I was never terribly good with numbers, but as I matured I found a newfound love for them. Quite likely because I actually discovered the answer to the question every kid in school asks: “How will I ever use this?” when being taught a college level math principle for the first time. With real estate I put math principles into action.
But other numbers stick in my head also. Like the last four
digits of the telephone number at my childhood home. Or the three digit street
address of the same place. Most importantly, my daughter’s birthdate. Of course, there are the
last four digits of my social security number.
And then there are the numbers no longer being used (as of
last week) as one of the gate access codes of a condo complex along Vanderbilt
Beach. Four simple numbers, but (and this may sound stupid) still a heartfelt
reminder of loved ones no longer with us. When that complex installed parking gates to limit access to
owners and guests many years ago, my father was president of the condominium
association. It became the first gated condo complex along Gulf Shore Drive in Naples.
In
addition to individual owner codes, they added a handful more codes for use by
vendors. Everyone from the landscapers to delivery drivers used these couple of
added codes. When I didn’t have an opener with me to visit my Mom and Dad (who
are both now deceased), I used one of these access codes.
Only a year ago, shortly after my Mom had passed (my Dad passed some
20+ years ago), did I learn the other code for use by vendors. A simple string
of numbers, easily remembered, but very significant for me when I learned the
digits were my father’s age at the time the gates were installed.
I never knew. Silly and stupid, right? But I was told by an
original owner that when the gate mechanism was being programmed, they had to
quickly come up with additional numbers. So my dad threw his age in there with
some zeroes.
When I learned that a year ago, that’s the only code I used from that day forward. Every time. Until this past weekend . . .
Here’s where my story may have you rolling your eyes at me even
more. And if I’ve lost you, my apologies. This is personal. So apparently there
is a new owner who is convinced someone is gaining unauthorized access to her
unit, even though she has changed the locks several times in the past few
months. I think she is mistaken, and perhaps should seek some help.
Nevertheless, she then started verbally attacking the current Board of
Directors, telling them that everyone on the beach, or everyone in Naples, has
the gate codes and anyone can just drive right in.
So to appease this new owner, whom most all of the
year-round owners think is being unreasonable, the Board elected to change the
codes. They are just numbers. And for a few months I think, they will only be
known by newspaper delivery folks, UPS drivers, landscapers, etc.
Dad died two years after the gates were installed. But for
me, every time I touched those numbers into the keypad, it was like my Dad was
still there. For the past year, I smiled a little more every time I
punched in the code to let us into a place that my Mom and Dad adored. It was
their peace and quiet away from work, and the hubbub of U.S. 41, and even the
Midwest.
Times change. Security needs change. My Mom and Dad are
still at this place. Sometimes we can smell my Mom’s perfume there. Some days it
is stronger than others. As if she stopped to peek in and see how things are going. What's more, Dad’s
fishing poles are still in the storeroom.
The disappearance of a number doesn’t change any of that.
